I'm a freelance reporter based in New York City working in words, audio, and pictures—both moving and still. I'm features editor for The War Horse, an adjunct at Columbia Journalism School, and an avid pitcher of stories.
Mix together segments of social media and three tablespoons of sour cream. Cover with plastic wrap and set overnight. Garnish with applesauce, and serve. All together, you’ve got a thoroughly heimish, warm and comforting Internet sensation. It’s not a technological breakthrough or cutting-edge website, but rather a genteel personification of all things grandmotherly. Meet Bubbe, who is the most surprised of all.
The mountain air was filled with flying lead and clinking bottles, and sudden cracks of gunpowder made everyone jump. It was just another round of tejo, Colombia’s favorite drinking game. We lined up to play, kicking a line on the cement floor, throwing lead pucks across the room into a clay-filled pan. Points were awarded for burying a puck in the center of the clay, or for crushing a mecha, a small paper packet filled with loose gunpowder.
The DJs spinning Balearic beats along the coastline of Ibiza time their sets to play the sun down into the sea. Rhythm and blues vocals croon over the meditative bass drone of some remix or another, and the air perks up with the smell of licorice. I trace the wafting aroma like a cartoon character following my nose to treasure. Licorice in the air is the mark of Hierbas Ibicencas, an aniseed-forward herbal liqueur that forms the backbone of local drinking culture.